The Black Balloon
by gottalovett
Summary: Ruth is sent to talk to a councillor about George's death. Just how much does she reveal about her true feelings?


_This is more of a vignette than a story I suppose. I was just trying to get my thoughts down about Ruth and how she acted in series eight really. I realise I imposed a lot of myself into this, but I hope it doesn't have a bad affect on what I've written. _

_The title comes from the Australian film The Black Balloon, about a boy who cares for his younger brother who is severely Autistic. Though the director said the title was a metaphor for the loss and sadness and ups and downs of an unusual childhood, she also said it was open to interpretation and could be seen as the black emotions Thomas experiences as a carer. Personally, I always saw the title as being about the release of the confusion and sadness and lack of control associated with being a carer at a young age (I care for my brother who has Autism). In that sense the 'black' balloon represented negative feelings to me, and the balloons release indicated those negative feelings floating away as the carer in the film (Thomas) came to terms with them. _

_Which is basically a long winded way of me saying that even though Ruth is not a carer for someone with a disability, her negative feelings and her way of dealing with them are similar to the people in The Black Balloon and many carers including myself that I know. As a carer for anyone with a mental illness, drinking or drug problem or disability, there is so much sadness, grief, anger, and frustration involved and most of all (and as a carer I speak from experience) there is such a huge lack of control. It's very common for people to try and hide their feelings away because as a carer you have to always be strong for the person you care for. In many ways, Ruth is experiencing these same emotional complexities of lack of control and of anger and of grief. I see her as using a strong facade as a way of protecting herself from those complex emotions and I think that the only way Ruth can move forward into series ten, is to talk properly to someone and let those black feelings go. And now I have written a meta essay. But thus this fic was born ;)_

_I hope someone enjoys this or at least is challanged to think._

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"It's ok to talk to me Ruth. You can't be strong all of the time."

"I don't like councillors," Ruth said flatly.

The councillor sat back, putting her fingers together into a steeple. She leaned back into her swivel chair. "You're evading the issue again, Ruth. Why don't you at least try to tell me a little bit of what you're feeling and then we can both go home. I imagine it's been a long day for both of us."

I'm not the type that goes in for telling strangers your secrets. I want to talk to someone I trust, a friend, not a person whose paid to listen. It's so cheap and commercial."

The councillor sighed. _Yet more deflection_. "You say that Ruth," she said gently, "but I have your file in front of me and I know what you say is not true because you are not talking to your friends are you? I have it from very reliable sources that you are pushing them all away."

'I don't want to talk. I can deal with this myself."

"But the problem is Ruth, you're not." There was a pause. "Maybe we could start with you telling me about yourself, your job, what you do...maybe that will be easier."

"I am an analyst and I think in complicated analytical patterns. When there is nothing left to analyse we begin again, reprocess the information and over think the hows and the whys and the wherefores."

"And is that what you are doing with George's death?"

"I am an analyst," Ruth repeated listlessly. "I am an analyst and I am thinking of Henry James; of his great character studies. I am thinking of classic literature, of The Wings of The Dove. I can see Merton before me at Milly's funeral and he mirrors myself at George's. I see him in Venice, see the mourners all dressed in black, the coffin canopy, the endless rain drops and the Italians wailing their chants of death..."

"And yet what does this have to with George, Ruth. What does a literary character have to do with George? Why don't you tell me Ruth?"

"Merton was in love with two people. One love was a selfish, passionate, grasping love. The other was an oath of love that always was a lie but it was quiet and gentle and boring but safe. He tried to have the both worlds but he lost one, and that, that changed everything."

"And George was the man who you never really loved, who was boring but safe? You never loved him yet he died because of you."

"Merton knew, like I know now, that we are punished for our mistakes, for our guilt's, for our selfish, passionate love affairs. And every time he looked at Kate, all he could see was Milly's innocently judging face."

'Yes. I remember studying the novel in high school. He was in love with a dead woman's memory in the end. He was in love with keeping his guilt alive at her memory," the councillor said quietly, but Ruth was no longer listening. The councillor closed her mouth and listened carefully.

Ruth's voice was harsh and cold. "I am an analyst. I see myself in him and I am the same. Every day I go to work and I see Harry before me who is alive and real, and every day I see George standing behind his shoulder smiling and dead because of me. It is not fair of me to love Harry and for Harry to love me when someone is dead because of us."

The councillor was sure this was the first time Ruth had said these words to anyone.

"And like Merton in Venice, I look up at the sky and I say to the unanswering clouds and circling birds ahead, 'Oh had I the wings of a dove that I might fly away and be at rest.' And every day I remain trapped and the salvation of a dove flies further and further away and finally there is no more hope left."

"And this is how you truly feel?"

"I am an analyst and George's memory is all I can see. This half dead limbo is the only future that I can ever see for me."

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_This was actually really carthatic to write. Plus one for fan fiction!_


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